^ 



PS 3503 
.U19 S6 












TONOPAH, NEVADA 
JVNE MCMX 



H 



COPYRIGHT, 1910. 

BY 

EDWARD NELSON BUCK 



(gCU268507 



On. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Alone 40 

Arizona Orange, The 54 

Babe of Bethlehem, The 11 

Bourbon, Please, for Mine, The 39 

But She Hadn't Learned to Cook 66 

Charley-Hoss 27 

Death of Marat 61 

Dream of the Future Time, A 33 

God's Acre 26 

Good-bye, Old Year 49 

Weals 57 

"I Lfove You" 35 

I'm on the Water Wagon Now 50 

In Fidelis 30 

In Paths Untrod 14 

"Inyo, My Inyo" 65 

"Just Do Your Best" 24 

Kiss We Never Had, The 4 8 

La Belle Mignon 59 

Land of Fond Regret, The 43 

Mah Honey-Bee 37 

Mining Expert, The 67 

Misjudged 47 

Modern Maid. A 34 



CONTENTS— Cwtinued 

Moods 4* 

My Creed 36 

Nevada, My Nevada 13 

Off Shore at Caplstrano 25 

Optimism 53 

•'Peace, Be Still" 60 

Port We Never Reach, The 42 

Progression 55 

Recompense 51 

Relief of Leyden, The 19 

Serenade, A 22 

Signs of Spring 44 

Story of the Gulls, The 15 

Success 31 

Sunrise on Mount Oddie 41 

Supposing 45 

Thanksgiving Prayer, A 58 

That Old Oaken Bucket 46 

Those Beaming Eyes o£ Brown IT 

To Halley's Comet 32 

To Hypnos 31 

To My Father 23 

Two Careers 18 

Two Offerings 52 

Two Presents 60 

Unappreciated 29 

When Knights Were Bold 56 

When Teddy Gets Back Home 38 




TO MY MOTHER 

As impassioned lover bears to the maid 
Who holds his very soul in thrall 
The gift he vahies most of all 

And deplores the off'ring so long delayed, 

So thus do I, today, bear unto thee 
This poorer token of my love. 
As tribute to a shrine above. 

This volume small of my minstrelsy. 



" I pray you, mar no more of my verses try 
reading them ill-favo^vredly." — Orlando in 
"As You Like It." 



Page Eleven SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




^be ^abe of ^etbUbftnt 




WAS midnight on far Judea's starlit plain; 
Tired Nature dreamed — a fitful night breeze 
Lazy stirred the nodding grass; and here and there 
A flock of sheep — less restless than their keepers, 
Who, with ear attent to the Great Mystery, 

Curiously watched, o'erhead, that new-born star — 

Slumbered content. The shepherds, expectant. 

Puzzled, half afraid, to each other whispered 

In halting, frightened accents, that this night 

Would the Host of Heaven the miracle reveal. 

Nature did itself, of The Coming conscious. 

Proclaim it with a thousand voices attuned 

To the brooding stillness of the night. 

And across these plains, in the fullness of the time. 
Came the three Wise Men; from far Chaldea, 
And the Farther East, had they journeyed. 
Bearing with them precious gifts for the Babe unborn — 
The promised herald of Man's regeneration. 
Day and night, thru sandy, desert wastes. 
Followed they that monitor, the Inward Voice, 
Ever west and west, until the sign celestial 
Shouldst appear and point the long-sought spot 
Of the Birth. And now the star. In mid-'day splendor, 
Poised above the homely Jewish village, 
Apprised the wanderers that their weary pilgrimage 
Had ended here at last. . . . 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Ttuebot 



And then the very heavens resounded 
With the joyful acclaim of angels chorusing 
"Peace on earth, good will to men" — the message 
The Messiah came to preach, until on Calvary 
His mission ended. The drowsing shepherds 
'Midst sleeping flocks, heard the heavenly host 
To puzzle o'er the tidings. But the Magi of the East, 
With myrrh and frankincense, and costly gifts 
As would befit a scion of Cyrus' royal line. 
Found in the stable, on lowly bed of straw. 
The Holy One, smiling in His sleep. 
Whilst the Virgin Mother, crooning as mothers will. 
Lulled the Infant to restful slumber, the while 
The wide-eyed kine didst wonder at it all — 
That greatest miracle of Motherhood. 

O Holy Babe of Bethlehem! Light of the World! 
The wonder wrought that night in far Judea 
Shall be by man remembered and revered 
So long as time shall last. Other prophets, seers. 
Have there been whose message to this erring race 
Tended toward its uplift. But Thou alone. 
The Man of Sorrows, didst bring the balm of healing 
To the sort of heart, bested in the wracking strife 
Of this weary world, didst proclaim the hope beyond, 
The Brotherhood of Man, with all its deep import, 
And the universal Fatherhood of God. 




Page Thirteen SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



"^tvaba. 5tli? 5teva6a 



|OETS may sing of fairer climes, but they are not so 
fair to me; 
Pen odes to brighter, bluer skies — -can such there 

really be? 
Paint idyls of life on the ocean, of days by the 
sounding sea — 
Some graces you perchance may lack, still a charm you have for 




me — 



Nevada, my Nevada! 



They paint for us Italla's charm, where life seems all a dream; 
The enticement of gay capitals, where pleasured thousands teem; 
Of languorous ease In southern seas — all these I fairly deem 
True gauges of earth's happiness — yet, above all, do I esteem 
Nevada, my Nevada! 



They depict the green of Erin's isle, the music of Scotia's rills; 
Of blissful days in the solitudes of wild Canadian hills; 
The grandeur of the Swltzer Alps, where ev'ry emotion thrills; 
But thine own alchemy for me a sweeter draught distills — 
Nevada, my Nevada! 

A beauty hast thou, all thine own, as fair as fair can be; 
Thou'rt adorned with all the tints that color land and sea; 
Thine own forests, mounts and streams have charm enough for me. 
Let painters limn it as they will, poets rave in ecstacy — 
Nevada, my Nevada! 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE P^ge Fourteen 



In Ipalbs tCnXvob 




AR away from the hum of the cities, 

Away from their misery and crime. 
Where Lust of Innocence makes foul sport. 

And youth ages ahead of its time; 
Where souls in sin and shame shrivel 
And Virtue is deemed a poor cloak, 
Where Ingratitude is judged a proud merit. 
And Success the one god e'er Invoked. 

'Tis in marts busy, the streets sadly crowded. 

Of these Sodoms — 'tis there that today 
The sacrifice is e'er made of Innocence — 

Grim tribute to Mammon are they! 
And the souls they are warped, by Faith lacking. 

Their lives unto Ignorance decreed; 
And Vice unrebuked e'er boldly stalks. 

And a grace is Self-Love and low Greed. 

O God, of Thy grace grant the guerdon 

Of a peace sought in paths yet untried; 
In Thy hills, in Thy forests, by Thy streamlets. 

Let me here for a time now abide! 
My days I'd fain spend with the wood-folk, 

With Nature abloom at my feet. 
Where, because man's language be lacking, 

They know not Untruth or Deceit. 

Where the fawn learns to trust when it loves one. 

And the squirrel a friend true it would be; 
Where the birds gladly carol their greeting 

In their own happy, sweet minstrelsy; 
For 'tis here that I fain would He dreaming. 

In Nature would I my soul steep — 
And 'tis here, when at last comes the summons. 

I would .glad!y lie down — and to sleep! 



Page Fifteen SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




d)e Stor? of the (Bulls 

A Tale of Early Mormon History 

WAS by the StatUB of the Gulls I stood. 
In the City of the Salted Sea, the while 
Musing o'er Its significance, and wond'rlng 
Just where the chronicle I might fairly read. 
When beside me stood a hoary man and eld, 
Who wistfully the monument regarded 
As 'twere in retrospection, and to my wish 
For the reasons that reared this oddly-toppfed shaft 
He volunteered the story to unfold. 
And did so in this wise — 

'Twas in the spring that followed 
The coming of the '47 pioneers — - 
Disciples all of martyred Joseph Smith; 
And the patient settlers, with hope set high, 
Careful prepared the virgin soil, no toil sparing. 
For its virgin crop. Two thousand souls and more 
Were there, in log huts and rude adobes living 
Within the old fort's confines; and the winter 
Now passed had been one of keen privation; 
Provisions scant had but ill sufficed to keep 
Body and soul together; and sago roots 
And thistle-tops oft made the meager, shortened 
Daily fare. But the Almighty, tender alway 
Of His people, and merciful, had Imposed 
A winter milder far than here ever known. 
Else few had lived to see the grasses grow again. 

'Twas as boy elate o'er spring's first promise 
Didst young and old alike see the verdant signs 
Of the coming needed harvest — the green spears 
Of oat and barley, and wheat and rye — and watch 
Their daily growth, the broad acres greening over, 
And in the blessings promised for the future 
Was stress of the past rapidly forgot. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Sixteen 



But all too soon, it seemed. For, as God tries 
Men's souls, and tests tJie stuff of wliich they're made, 
By imposing burdens that for the nonce 
Seem greater far than mortal strength can bear, 
So on these weary, worn wand'rers did He a blight 
Cast, and on their dreams. And here their courage 
Wilted with their trust. 

'Twas on an afternoon 
In later May the scourge appeared which threatened 
All their hopes, and did the very existence 
Menace of the coloni&ts. As in old Egypt 
A plague of locusts did the land ravage 
In punishment of Pharaoh, so here 
A very cloud of crickets didst darkly cast 
A pall about the sun, and convert the day 
Into the gloom of night. And this horde, hunge-lng 
For the tender shoots of green carpeting the fields. 
Didst wither them in passing, as tho swept 
By blasting breath of furnace. 

But here God's mercy interposed; 
.And lo! almost as soon as the plague had settled. 
From the north there came in countless numbers, 
Dark'ning the day as did the blight of crickets. 
In eager flight a-wing, a host of gulls. 
And still yet gulls — and gulls! And then they settled 
On these fields now ravaged by the insects. 
They checked the devastation before too great 
A damage had been wrought; and day by day 
This visit they repeated, until all danger 
At last had passed; nor least harm did they 
To the growing crops. And this first, most needed 
Harvest of the settlers, those hardy pioneers, 
Was thus insured against the day of need. 

Is't to be wondered, 
Then, that inspired by grateful remembrance 
They reared this shaft the event to commemorate. 
And a law didst pass, making it a crime 
To harass, or in any wise molest, the gull. 
Since it proved of this people the salvation 
In the hour of their greatest need? 



Page Seventeen SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




^l)ose beaming Tcyes of ^rown 

I. 

HE eyes of gray, the wise ones say, bespeak the happy 
mind. 
The calm content of a lite well spent, to charity 

Inclined; 

The Index of all virtues best, they mirror the heart 
humane 
That does the little loving acts, nor counts the cost nor gain. 

All this perchance may well be true, but here we write us down 
As pledging firm allegiance to the sparkling eyes of brown. 

n. 

The eyes of blue, of heaven's hue, in ev'ry land and age. 
In ev'ry clime, in prose and rime, alike both bard and sage 
Have witness borne to the charm of these sweet azure orbs so bright 
That rival the blue of heaven's vault, the shining stars at night. 
Nay, eyes of blue, tho all so true, do not at us thus frown 
For vowing loyal worship of those witching eyes of brown! 



m. 

So here's to the eyes of sparkling brown, the tinting to us most dear! 
So here's to the girl of the chestnut orbs, whose soul la pure and 

clear! 
There may be others just as good, in countryside and town. 
But here's a toast to the winsome lass with beaming eyes of brown! 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Eighteen 




X5xfO Careers 
I. 

NE man there was, who did the ways of peace prefer, 
And for the plaudits of the crowd cared nought; 
No laurel wreath for him was given e'er or sought, 
Nor did the pageantry of fame response e'er In him 
stir. 
His life was wholly spent in doing gentle deeds and kind. 
Helping his fellow-man, succoring the distressed; 
And when his last call came, and laid he was to rest. 
Remembered was he for a time — then passed he out of mind. 

n. 

Another man there was, soul-stirred to ambitious heights; 

Ingrained with self esteem, denied all traits humane; 

Giving all to self-advancement, devoted to that fane 
Wherein is shrined the soul which self-love early blights. 
Of men's meed of worldly glory stood he richly well possest; 

His voice in councils of the state potent for v.eal or woe. 

His ev'ry act applauded, when his summons came to go 
His name was writ in History and men did term him blest. 



Page Nineteen SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



i^^ 




Z3l)ft 5^eluf of HLcY^en 

TO HON. GCORGE S. NIXON 
UNITED STATES SENATOR FROM NEVADA 

HILIP II Of Spain, prompted by a momentary spirit of 
conciliation, appointed Requesens Governor-General 
of the revolted Netherlands, to succeed the infamous 
Duke of Alva. Requesens assumed his duties Novem- 
ber 17, 1573, and arranged a conference with the 
Dutch patriots with a view of securing peace, but nothing could be 
agreed upon. Then the war was prosecuted more vigorously than 
ever. 

One of the famous incidents of this memorable struggle 
was the defense and relief of Leyden. The place was commanded 
by Jean Vanderdoes, known to literature as poet by the name of 
Dousa. He heroically refused all terms of surrender offered by the 
Spanish besiegers. At last, when the town was reduced to the last 
extremities of famine and disease, it was relieved by a stratagem of 
William of Orange, who had the dikes cut and flooded the country, 
drowning the Spanish camp. The same flood that brought disaster 
to the Spaniards carried on Its tide the relief ships with supplies 
for th3 stricken town. This happened October 3, 1574, and since 
then the date has been annually observed as a holiday in Leyden. 



5 



O long as men shall tell in story 

The right bold deeds they would extol. 
And add unto fair Fame's long roll 

The names of those decreed to glory. 

So long shall live In prose and rime 
The tale of how, besieged late. 
Did Leyden town escape the fate 

Its neighbors shared in that hard time. 



The old Dutch town, at war with Spain, 
By Spanish troops hemmed close about- 
So tight that, neither In nor out, 

Could one pass city's walls again. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE P»ge Tiventy 



Long months the burghers heard war's din. 
And hunger stall-ed at last its streets; 
Nor trained levies, nor val'rous fleets, 

Could aid those compassed there within. 

No longer living four-footed thing — 
Nor bird nor fowl — no longer found 
Were they in this quaint old Dutch town- 

Nor needed food could money bring. 

And women saw their babes at breast 
Full starved at last, in arms they died. 
Their infant need no more supplied. 

And mothers deemed them at last blest. 

Both Famine and Disease didst raise 

Their loathsome hydra heads; and since 
Men died so fast from pestilence 

Graveless they lay perforce for days. 

Men fought like dogs, day after day. 
For offal as 'twere Lucullan feast, 
Nor deemed themselves dishonored least 

When this was found the only way. 

Men, fallen ill, lay where they fell 
Nor could they hope succor to find; 
Since mercy shown would be unlcind 

When men glad welcomed the death knell. 

The bold commander, Dousa named, 

(His fame shall live as long as time. 
So long as men sing deeds in rime) 

When brave men begged him, unashamed. 

To give the Spaniards up the town, 

Since Valdez had them fair terms made, 
'Twas then that Dousa unafraid, 

Didst answer, his resolve new found: 

"This left arm take, if need there he, 
If 'twould one's hunger satisfy 
And save some soul that else would die — 

The right is sworn to Liberty!" 



Page Tivenfy-one SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



And now the burghers, newly nerved, 
With fierce resolve their oaths renewed 
They would not by Spain be subdued 

By all the armies that Spain served. 

But yet their state became more grave, 
And iron wills would fain relax 
And shift a burden that would tax 

The hardiest, however brave. 

Yet all the time relief was planned 
Could yet beleagured for a space 
Maintain inviolate the place 

And keep up watch, the walls well manned. 

At last and he of Orange* gave 

His orders^ — and the terms were blunt — 
The dikes along the seiashore's front 

For miles be cut, till the waters lave 

The very city's front — and then 

The Spaniards would the siege quick raise. 
Nor linger longer than the day's 

Chance gave them to embark thedr men. 

And this was not enough — as soon 
As dikes were cut a hurricane 
Swept waters twenty miles a-maln 

From Zuyder Zee to Berg-op-Zoon. 

Ill recked that day the Spanish folk. 
For of all Valdez' encamped corps 
Were saved not more tnan twenty-score. 

And Leyden freed from foreign yoke. 

And, too, the floods that wrought dismay 
To Spanish arms, didst relief bring 
To famine-curst, who, welcoming 

The ships that harbored there that day. 

In plenty found supplies and then 

Didst for all time decree that date** 
Shouldst be by Leyden celebrate 

To instil its truths in hearts of men. 



*William the Silent 
♦♦October 3d, 1574 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Tiventy-t'wo 



"I^A Serenade 




O thee, O love, in thy casement high. 
Comes a troubadour a-singing. 
Who craves from thee one tender word. 

To him bright hope a-bringing; 
The star-shine of the heaven's vault 
Matches not thy love-lit eyes — 
O grant to me of thy treasure, love, 
The benison that I prize. 

II. 

The moonbeams play in elfin glee 

O'er hill and dale this night; 
The oriole calls from arbored nest 

To its mate now hid from sight; 
No rival thine the moonbeams bright 

To the witchery of those eyes; 
No voice so sweet as thine, my dear. 

Greets love in glad surprise. 



III. 

One word from thee, and now good rest. 
Thy minstrel no more may sing; 

One glance of thine, no sweeter grace 
The new-born day can bring; 

May remembrance hold him doubly dear 
As thy suppliant goes from sight; 

Sweet dreams to thee, thru all the hours- 
Good night, my sweet, good night. 



Page T<wenty-three 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Oo yCiY Jta\\)zv 




HY grave I've never visited; and yet methlnlis — 
It comes o'er me in the solitude of night — 
I see thee still as I saw thee last, always 
With a blessing, and a benediction, too. 
For an errant son, whose headstrong, wilful way 
Quite broke thy patient heart. For patient, truly. 
Thou always wert — patient for the faults you knew 
Aging manhood would outgrow, realizing full 
That youth is stubborn in its folly; and wisdom 
Comes only as we older grow. 

Oh, that rebellious youth 
Could vision the weary years in store — could glimpse 
The moods that shift with each inversion 
Of Time's hour-glass — could feel the heart-wrack 
Of a remorse that cankers all our later days; 
That prompts the wish for a hast'ning of the end, 
And makes us crave fulfillment of the promise 
Made by Him of Calvary — that all again may meet 
In that Other Life, where we due amend may make 
For all the folly that we did, for all our faults 
On this journey here below. 




SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Tivtnty-four 




••'3u5t TDo your t^est." 

HEN the clouds are hanging lowest 
And the world Is looking blue, 
And things don't seem to go just right 

And you doubt just what to do; 
There's one safe rule to follow then, 
'Twill stand about ev'ry test — 
Perform a man's work day by day — 
"Just do your best." 

Misfortunes may come thick and fast. 

Your luck's at zero point; 
Your health gives out, you lose your job. 

And things are out of joint — 
Is that the time to throw up hands, 

A beaten man contest? 
Nay, play the man, keep a-pluggln' on, 

"Just do your best." 

The prizes of life don't fall to those 

Who admit defeat and stop; 
The men who soonest quit the job 

The soonest are forgot. 
The men who earn the big rewards 

Observe this brief behest 
(As 'twill to you some good accrue) — 

"Just do your best." 



The carklng care of this old world 

Wearies at times us all; 
And there are trials in all our lives 

That on our courage call; 
But play your part so when at last 

To earth you're laid to rest 
O'er your grave they'll find it truthful writ, 

"He did his best!" 



Page T<wenty-feoe 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Off Sborfc at (Tafilstrano 




TO W. H. BOHANNAN, ESQ. 

S in half-waked dream I hear the bella 
Like a knell, far out at sea; 
The chimes a heav'nly choir suggest— 

An angel's chant to me. 
My boat drifts idly with ebbing tide. 
And the oars trail lightly by, 
As I sit and muse, and the twilight wanes 
As the sea-birds landward fly. 

'Tls not of the present these rusted bells 

Of the mission plaintive sing; 
Their voice is attuned to a time long gone — 

'Tis a requiem they ring. 
The regret is hymned of days long passed 

When gallant and black-eyed maid 
Pledged lasting troth in th« chancel dim 

Ere Life's voyage they essayed. 

When black-robed priest and Capuchin friar 

And monk, in habit austere, 
And acolytes in white their duty did 

Before God's altar there. 
Of this in mem'ry these old, worn bells 

Ring in sad cadence today — 
A canticle for the glories gone. 

Forever passed away. 



The flagged walks of the mission old 
No longer re-echo the tread 

Of the throngs in festival celebrant. 
When the hours so merrily sped. 

Weather-worn and bare are they today, 
Owl nests on crumbling wall; 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Pige Ttuenty-six 



The choir now one of Nature's own — 
The lark with his morning call . . . 

And the bells Intone with subdued voice 
Their message across the sea; 

'Tls a requiem for the days long gone 
That they sadly waft to me. 




(bob's "!2\.cre 

NLY a nameless, homeless waif 

In a shroud of spotless white; 
Only a poor, lost, loving soul 
Gloomed In darkest night; 
Only a half hid, lowly grave 
On the side of a lonely hill; 
Only another derelict 

That helps God's acre to fill. 



Only a weak and trusting soul 

That harked to man's deceit; 
Only another erring maid 

That harbored in the street; 
Only another unmarked grave 

'Midst the violets, perfumed sweet; 
But the angels a fair record keep 

For God's own Judgment Seat. 



Page T<wenfy-seven SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




An Epic of the Redwoods 

TO DR. J. R. CUNNINGHAM 

TRANGER. there's nothln' doln' — when you talk 
Of buyln' this here boss, you've another 
Think a-comin'; why, if you owned the Comstock, 
An' the Homestake, an' the Inderpendence, 
An' all the rest, you'd still be shy a lot 
Of makin' up the pot. 

"This cayuse of mine 
Is not for sale, not much. An' why, you say? 
Well, then, I'll tell you, and after I've spieled 
My yarn, go down there on the Flats — they'll tell the rest; 
An' then you'll know why, when one of us goes hungry. 
The Charley-boss always eats. 

"Did you ever hear, 
Pardner, of that fire that swept these Tuolumne hills 
Some ten years back? I saw a picter when a kid. 
Painted by a dago named Dore, or somethin' like. 
Of how he thought Hell looked. If he'd been here 
When that fire broke loose, the likeness some dift'rent 
He'd a-painted — truer to Nature, as they say. 
Why, that fire came a-roarin' and a-cracklin'. 
Hell bent for election, and chewed up these trees. 
These big, tall redwoods, as if they're made of tinder; 
Why, pardner, 'twas a cyclone, an' a simoon. 
An' a hurricane, all in one — an' hotter 
Than the hinges of hell — as Bill Higgins says. 

"Well, Charley-hoss an' I were on that hill. 
When we saw it comin'; and then the fire 
Had rounded us on three sides— and one way only 
Was left for escape from that fiery pit. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page T'weniy-eighi 



An' we didn't waste much time in framing up 
A get-away. 

"Pardner, did you ever play bank? 
To bad luck were you ever introduced? 
Did you ever dig your last lonely samoleon 
An' try to call the turn — an' then to see 
Your queen-tray come out the box reversed? 
Well, that's the sort of luck I played In 
The day that fire was raisin' hell. 

"For just as I was tryin' to mount 
This Charley-hoss of mine, an' ride out safe. 
My foot caught an' I fell — nothin' much, I thought. 
Until I tried to rise, an' then I knew the game was up; 
I could've practiced for a year, an' never reached 
The saddle with a broken leg — an' broke a-plenty; 
An' I just lay hack and cussed; an' Charley-hoss, he 
Knew something was askew; an' he whinnied 
An' he nosed me over, as if he'd ask 
What the row was. An' all the time that fire 
Gettin' closer and closer, until the boss and I 
Could feel its breath. 

"An' then somethin' happened; 
Why, that Charley-hoss seemed to get right next to things- 
He savvied the burro, as it were — he tumbled; 
An' then what did he do, but just kneel right down 
There by my side, as if he was a circus boss. 
An' wait until I could get one leg across his back. 
An' then scrambled up again? An' off we went. 

"An' that's why I'm a-tellin' you, pardner. 
That when one of us must hungry go, some time, 
The Charley-hoss always eats." 



Page Tiventy-nine SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



XCnapfreclate6 




RAT was only a dog, and of quite low degree, 
And his license it hadn't been paid; 
And they haled him away witli courtesy scant. 

To the pound, so the license-man said. 
An! the dog wondered then, as he thought o'er the 
case, 
Why it was for him only they came. 
When some other dogs, with nothing to do. 
Could idly loaf 'round just the same. 

There was Jones' old cur, who lived just next door. 

And now sported a big brass tag; 
He never pretended to watch the house nights. 

And always was chock-full of brag; 
Jones' place could be robbed a half score times a day 

If it depended on Jones' fool dog; 
When he wasn't just loafing and idling around 

He was sleeping as sound as a log. 

But poor old dog Tray, to his duty alert, 

At his post faithful both day and night; 
O'er the kids did he jealously watch as they played. 

And ne'er let them get out of sight. 
But his service, they deemed, was but of slight worth 

And the master cared little nor knew 
How loyal a servant he'd ill sacrificed — 
A lowly friend, yes, but true blue. 

L'ENVOI 

It oft happens thus in this dull round of life — 

Seems a part of the world's scheme of things — 
That the ones most unworthy draw the big prize, 

And merit few blessings e er brings; 
That the one who his duty most faithful performs, 

And does it without boasting or show. 
Must look somewhere else for his due recompense. 

For 'tis seldom attained here below. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Thirty 






3n IFliells 

iILIi you love me in days of gloom, dear. 

As you've loved me in days most fair? 
Will affection outlast youth's bloom, dear, 

When our lives are seared by Care? 
When age shadows the sunset of our lives. 
When the years are saddest and long. 
Will your heart still beat with mine, dear love, 
Still attuned to Love's sweet song? 

Spoken word could tell but half the truth 

Messaged clearly in thine eyes; 
Thy glance tells the story which the lips 

Might endeavor to disguise. 
Let come what will, be It good or ill. 

Nought the future can impair, 
Since thou'lt love in days of gloom, dear heart, 

As you loved me In those most fair. 



Page Thirty-one 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



^wo Sonnets 




Co "Jfypnoj 

E woo thee in a hundred ways, and then 

A hundred more, to find, when all too late, 
Thou canst do no more than alleviate 
A mind distressed^ — a balm for that stage when 
Forgetfulness we seelv, and seek again. 
Philtered potion we thus would make await 
Thy leaden footsteps. Thus we Invocate 
Another quaff of Nepenthe's cup — of men 
Thrice blessed. As Tantalus didst in vain Implore 

And prayed one moment's surcease of his pain — 
That but once his agony he might Ignore — 

So do we supplicate, too oft in vain. 
Those who beg thee not, thou givest in rich store; 
Denying those who thy mercy would obtain. 




ND whom shall we deem has achieved Success? 
^It)i Shall It be he who wears the moment's crown 
And wins the plaudits of a day's renown 
Because he doth his present age impress? 
Or shall it be he, who, thru lifelong stress. 
Is patient, and patiently would await 
The final verdict, and thus is compensate 
In knowing true whom Posterity would bless? 
For, after all, Socrates did victor prove 

O'er his judges, whose names are now forgot; 
The Savior lives. In His tenderness and love. 

When no stone marks proud Pilate's burial spot. 
And the Fates do not, whilst we live, above 
High emblazon the names they Fame allot. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Thirty-ltoo 






^0 TfalleY * Comet 

HOU vagrant wanderer of space, that boldly sweeps 
Into our ken but once before we pass beyond, 
Whence comest thou? — and goest, where? 



Since Primal Cause, 
Creation's earliest Impulse, didst first decree 
The stars in the spangled firmament, and didst set 
The utmost bounds of these nether worlds, their orbits 
Duly planned, and didst fix the seal inviolate 
Of obedience to Law — all these since eldest dawn 
Of Creation's dimmest daybreak without halt 
Have followed — unchanging governed by the plan 
Mapped for all Eternity — their courses, subservient 
To the Greater Scheme! 

But thou! Whither goest thou 
In thy long, eccentric course? Dost bridge the gulf 
Between the Thing Created and that deep abysmal night 
Where eldest Chaos still reigns supreme, and where 
In the crucible of the Universe, worlds yet 
Are in the making? 

Sweep on, majestic Mystery! 
Thy secret will ne'er discovered be by man 
In this lower life — revealed only when, in the change 
To that Other Life, by tne Godhead due decreed. 
We become, of the all-embracing Essence, a part 
And then may read, as his primer would a little child. 
The awful Riddle of the Universe! 



Page Thirty-three SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



T^ 1>ream of t^e '3Futurft "Dime 



TO HON. FRANK F. OSTER 




S when one dreams I saw a Vision — It spanned the 
ruture vast — 
A cycle before me lay unrolled, swept back into the 
Past. 



And in this Vision another world panoramied before me lay; 
And its import I could clear discern before it passed away. 

I saw pictured a Race Uplifted, thru experience its lesson taught; 
With the Utopia at last full realized, by humanity long sought. 

Where statecraft, divorced from selfish aim, strove for a people's 

good. 
And polity firmly based on Right — the Right truly understood. 

Men warred no longer like snarling dogs, nor sought by savage force 
Their quarrel to settle with levies armed — the purblind fool's 
recourse. 

Instead they chose the wiser way — took counsel of a people's weal — 
And did their differences arbitrate, and from this took no appeal. 

And while men spoke in various tongues, no boundary lines of state 
Divided them into nations, their interests separate. 

And Justice was not bartered, and Equity was not on sale. 

And souls were not made sacrifice because men made trial and fail; 

And Law did check Wealth's arrogance, and a limit set its greed. 
And due provision a common treasury made for a people's need. 

And Poverty was a thing uncountenanced, since into the common 

hoard 
A tax proper was paid on Profit, 'gainst time of need due stored. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Thirty-four 



Where Misfortune was not judged a crime, wtere Merit won its 

own, 
And Error was forgiven when by repentance it did atone. 

Where Toil toolv share of Profit, an equal part with Wealth, 
And men took their own right openly where now they talte by 
stealth; 

And Labor's toil was portioned fair, no more for Greed the prize — 
The Greed that takes the greater share and a living wage denies. 

Where Innocence and Beauty were no more a prize for Lust, 
And Purity found protection where it had given its trust. 

Where Marriage was not a sordid trade, the children born of hate. 
And woman bitter cursed the bond and constant railed her fate; 

But Woman held an ^qual place in Life's affairs with Man — 
His partner equal in all things, as preordained the plan. . . . 




^bc Mtodcrit !5ttal6 

jWAS as the shades of evening fell 

That Mabel and I went walking; 
She listened with head demurely bent 
Whilst I did all the talking. 
I enthused of love in a cottage small. 
Pictured all with a lover's glow; 
"But I'm from Missouri, love," quoth she, 
" 'Tis me you'll have to show." 



Page Thirty-five 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



3 TLovc you 



TO ALICE S . 




LOVE you!" Tho all else forgotten be, 
Tho all our lives apart by Fate's decree, 
I hear thee yet — ne'er to fade from memory- 
"I love you!" 



"I love you!" So your lips did softly vow; 
Would God but grant its due fulfillment now, 
Then would I deem this paradise enow — 
"I love you!" 

"I love you!" Time has little changed thy heart. 
And though Life's current has drifted us apart, 
I hear still the pledge thou didst then impart — 
"I love you!" 

"I love you!" How it haunts the memory; 
True today as when whispered first to me; 
And when comes the end may my last thought then be- 
"I love you!" 




SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Thirty-six 



yti^ dr&tb 




CARE not for the creeds of faith 

Wrought out by churches as the plan 
By which salvation is attained — 
'Tis all the handiwork of man. 

I'll not with dogma fret my soul. 

Nor vain embitter this one life; 
The hidden mysteries of cult 

At best provoke a bootless strife. 

If, as the Savior said, 'tis works 

That count the greatest in the scale, 

Then by my works will I a creed 
Live that men cannot assail. 



The Golden Rule's my decalogue; 

It's wide and broad enough for all; 
And if its precept I observe 

I can serene await the call. 

This and Jesus' last command 

Our neighbor as ourselves to love — 
These be my creed, my code of faith, 

These be my gauge of rewai-xi above. 



Page Thirty-seven 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



^al) '3loneY-^'i<i 




A Plantation Darkey Lullaby 
I. 

E whlppoorwlll calls from de cypress-tree 
To Its mate 'cross de big bayou; 
An' de woodpecker pecks, so mad he be 

At de 'gator down in de slough; 
An' de swamp-birds nestle 'way up in de limbs 
Of de palmetto, so high It be — 
An' I listen, an' I sigh. 
As de breezes dey sweep by, 
For de gal dat I know loves me! 

Mah honey-bee, 

Mah hnneif-bee! 
Yo' is mo' dan all dis world to me ; 
An' yo' eyes shine so bright 
Dat dey dim de stahs at night — 

Man honey-bee, 

Mah honey-bee ! 

II. 

De flowers in de fields am a-smilin' at de sun, 

And de sun he smiles some more; 
De bumble-bee a-dronin' tells de clover he's a-comin' 

For to lay up his honey store; 
De world am a-beamin' as I lay here a-dreamin' 
Of dat gal, an' mah heart does pine; 
On de bank I lay a-thinkin' — 
While de owl he keeps a-blinkln' — 
But de owl has no gal like mine! 

Mah honey-bee, 

Mah honey-bee ! 

It's yo' Fse a-pinin' fo' to see ; 

De days dey seem so dreary 

When I doesn't see mah dearie, 

Mah honey-bee, 

Mah honey-bee! 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Thirty-eight 




Whtn Oc66? (Bets "^ack 'Mome. 

HE crooks in congress are now in a stew, 
For Teddy's a-coming home; 
Also the combines — and they're not a few — 

For Teddy's a-coming home. 
The man who's a-stealing timber and land; 
The cheap politician who gives the glad hand; 
They're all now a-wondering just where they stand. 
For Teddy's a-coming home. 

The meat trust will want its prices to lower. 

When Teddy gets back home; 
Standard Oil will feel just a trifle sore 

When Teddy gets back home; 
Ev'ry old grafter with a three-card brace; 
Ev'ry old hypocrite with a front-pew face; 
Getting away, they'll lead a Marathon race 

When Teddy gets back home. 

The dinner-pail boys'U give a glad cheer 

When Teddy gets back home; 
They're the ones who will have nothing to fear 

When Teddy gets back home; 
The farmer man, chewing his wisp of straw. 
Who cusses the crooks and cusses the law. 
Has faith there'll again be an even draw 

When Teddy gets back home. 



Colonel Roosevelt, returning from a two years' hunting expedi- 
tion in Africa in April, 1910, spent several months in Europe before 
coming back to this country. He was the guest of the various 
governments and potentates while in Europe. 



Page Thirty-nine SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




^l)fc bourbon, "please, for Milne 

TO EDW- MALLEY. ESQ. 

HEY tell us of the wondrous wines they grow in sunny 
France, 
Of champagnes and of Bordeaux wherein the light- 
beams play and dance, 
Of deep-red ports from Portugal, Moselles from near 
the Rhine; 
But give me the extract of corn — just the Bourbon plain for mine! 

John Bull proud boasts his ambered ale — there's nothing half so 

good; 
The Scotchman with his usquebaugh soon mellows in his mood; 
The Teuton loves his lager dear, brimming over in his stein. 
But give me the juice of ripened corn — it's good enough for mine! 

The Greeks of old devised a drink, 'twas for the gods alone. 
And quaffed it was on Olympus high, where Jove, upon his throne. 
Inspired, did it ambrosia call — a nectar most benign — 
But not for it would I exchange this Bourbon old of mine! 

Forsooth, when Bacchus at his task — no task for him, I w«en — 
Aided by nymphs and naiads, in some quiet sylvan scene. 
Didst brew this nectar for the gods he'd give, I would opine, 
In exchange his favored recipe for this old brew of mine! 



SOME FUGITIVE VEUSE 



Page Forty 



TKXom 




TO MRS. M. F. SCHOEN 

HE gaud and glitter of proud estate. 

The glamour of hard-earned fame; 
The possession sure of riches vast. 
The pride of an honored name; 
The constant favored by Fortune's smile, 
Tho his praises men intone — 
What boots all these to the man bereft. 
To the man in the world alone? 

We see the friends of our manhood's prime 

Drift from us one by one; 
And the shadows lengthen day by day 

As westering sets Life's sun; 
What recompense can Fate award — 

Tho his name to a whole world known — 
To the man whose days are friendless ones. 

To the man in the world alone? 



The Game of Life is a complex one. 

Our sympathies we must share; 
A saddened end is to him decreed 

Whose game was solitaire. 
'Tis happy he whose name is blessed. 

Who's loved wherever known — 
God pity the man of friends denied, 

The man in the world alone. 



Page Forty-one SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




Sunrise on !fZlt. 056le 

ROUND the horizon's purpled rim the shades of Night 
Unbroken He; and in the archfed vault o'erhead, 
High spanned by that mysterious Milky Way, 
The gleaming stars, like glow-worms mirrored in a 
pool. 
Westward wend their ceaseless course; brightest of all, 
Sirlus, boldy captaining the starry host. 

And now a faintest tinge of rose, 
Faint as the damasked blush upon a maiden's cheek. 
Breaks the eastern sky's dim, darkened edge; 
That strangest hush, portent of drowsied Nature dreaming. 
The promise gives, mute herald, of coming dawn; and now 
A breeze, lazy stirring the plumes of desert grass. 
Wafts gently by, hinting the benison of new-born day; 
The birds a-twitter voice their morning's orisons; 
The paling twilight makes way in quick'ning haste 
For brighter dawn; and Phoebus flings his banner 
Athwart the azured sky, and Nature dreams no more — 
The sun is risen, and Day again Is here. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Pstge Forty-tmo 




I3l)« "Port Wt. yttvAT ^eac^ 

L 

IS a right proud ship that squares her sails, 
Bound, bo! for the Isles of Bliss; 
'Tls a right proud crew that shapes her course 

For the port so many miss; 
Fav'rlng breezes blow abaft her beam 
As the helmsman marks her way — 
There's not a cloud obscures the sun 
For the voyaging today. 



'Tls a saddened crew on the homebound trip 

And a storm-wracked ship beside, 
For the haven we sought — the Isles of Bliss — 

Was to us a port denied; 
The main was strewn with the wrecks of barks, 

Many a crew comes thus amiss — 
There's many a sailor, with hopes set high. 

That ne'er reaches the Isles of Bliss. 



Page Forty-three SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




^l)c "Canft of "B'onft t>\cgrel 

HERE'S many a heart goes sorrowing 
In that Land known as Regret; 
There's many a soul grief borrowing, 

With remembrance sore beset; 
There's many a wish for the mlght-hare-been 
When the wish is all too late; 
And we sigh for things long passed away, 
Repining at our fate. 

We hark us back to the years of youth 

When our dreams were colored the rose, 
And our future we try to gild, forsooth. 

As the life stream onward flows. 
But our dreams do not color as they did — 

All our memories sadly set 
In that country of blighted, empty dreams. 

In that Land of Fond Regret. 

The skein of life is a tangled one, 

His destiny none may know; 
The Fates that ravel and cut the skein 

Their purpose never show. 
Yet may we so decide our lives 

That, if we cannot forget, 
We waste it not in repinings vain 

In that Land of Pond Regret. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Forty-four 



Signs of Sfrlitg 



rj^SflHEY ti 



IHEY talk of signs of spring and say 
The unfailing one to see 

hen the buds begin to sprout 
On shrub and bush and tree. 
But surer to me than any of these — 

And one's that sure as fate — 
Is when the flies begin to buzz 
And settle on your pate. 



Another sign unfailing, too, 

One you can swear is true; 
That harks us back to boynood days- 

A sign we well then knew! — 
Is that tired feeling that comes on 

And irks our very soul. 
And prompts us to a-fishing go 

With bait-can, line and pole. 



^ 



yioobs 



% 






j WILD-ROSE, nodding by the roadside. 

And drowsing in Its lazy day-dreams, 
Laughing whispered its nearest neighbor, 
"So happy now this whole world seems!" 



The sun beclouded, the raindrops falling. 
The roses sorrowed that such things be; 

And then, unhappy, murmured to each other, 
"How dreary now this world's to me!" 



Page Forty-fme 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Supposing 




UPPOSE tbe money you late did lose 
Over faro's cheerful layout 
You had right now down In your jeans. 

Your debts to help you pay out? 
Suppose the money you loaned that friend 
You had where you could get It — 
That currency now would pay some bills. 
Or would you go and bet It? 

Suppose the girl you thought so sweet 

Hadn't married that other duffer, 
And all those children now w«re yours. 

Would not your lot be rougher? 
Suppose those kids were yours to clothe 

As well to educate — 
Would not your kick be harder then 

Against the pricks of Fate? 



'Tis human-like to wish for things 

We know we cannot get; 
We paw the earth o'er past regrets 

And stew and fume and fret; 
But if our wishes we had them all. 

Our keen desires to leaven, 
Not content, we'd want the pearly gates 

And all the crowns In heaven. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Forty-six 




Obat 016 Oaken !&ucKct 

TO CHAS. L, SLAVfN. ESQ 

HOSE dear old scenes of childhood, how fondly we recall 
Them to our mem'ry nowadays — we knew them one 

and all — 
The spring-house old, that hid itself in the shade 
down by the brook; 
The old road worming 'round the hill, where, hidden in many a 

nook, 
The mink and possum played bo-peep, whilst the squirrels in the tree 
Nibbled their acorns blithely, and made goo-goo eyes at me. 

Oh, those scenes of childhood, they wove 'round me a spell! 
But ever my longest mem'ry clings to that bucket in the well. 

Oh, those scenes of childhood! The stars would be shining late 
When I rose in the early morning, in the barn to keep a date 
With horses and live stock sundry, awake for their morning meal, 
Who had to breakfast long before I'd start the milking deal. 
But all this came to me easy; where I weakly lost my nerve 
Was in getting up the water that these cattle I might serve. 

It came up bucket at a time — it wove 'round me a spell! 

I can see it in my mind's ey« now — that blamed bucket in the 
well! 

And when the washday would come 'round my mother 'd blandly say 
"I think, dear Willie, you would better stay from school today; 
In the kitchen you can help us some, bring the water we require. 
Put all the clothes out on the line, and withal keep up the fire!" 
Ah, those scenes of early childhood! — my mother I hear yet — 
And those days of drawing water I can never quite forget. 

Lost to mem'ry dear are some things, but just here let me tell 
I'll never forget that bucket — that blamed bucket in the well! 



Page Forty-seven SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



^Isiu6ge6 






E'S a gruff old cuss," the neighbors said, 
"And he never does anyone good; 
He's tight as a wad in a cholte-bore gun" — 

Thus he in their graces stood. 
But when Brown died, leaving wife and kids. 
And broke, tho he did his best, 
The gruff one footed the subscription list 
And gave more than all the rest. 

"He's a mean old brute," so some of them said; 
"No kind word does ever he give; 
He's grumpy and grouchy and out of sorts — 

He's just too mean to live!" 
But the kids they loved him, they best knew why. 

Dogs would follow him half a mile — 
For to one he oft bore some trifling gift. 
To the other gave pat and a smile. 

Too oft we misjudge our fellow-man, 

And a light word travels fast. 
And we seldom see the harm we've done 

Till the damage long is past; 
'Tls an ill-kept tongue that slanders one 

And one mean tempered beside. 
With a gruff way oft goes a heart of gold 

Disguised in a cloak of pride. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Forty-eight 



Bbe TKlss >SOe. Clever Hab 







E'VE kissed the maid with the languorous eyes. 
And the one whose orbs didn't pair; 
Likev.ise the girls with the fluffy curls 
And the ones with the golden hair; 
The game we have impartially played 
With good girls and with bad — 
But the sweetest kiss of all our dreams 
Was the kiss we never had. 



The honeyed lips of the French dem'selle, 

Senoritas of Spain's fair clime; 
Dutch frauleins, 'midst old Holland's dikes — 

All these came in their time. 
As well the tall girls, forsooth the short, 

Maidens merry and maids sad — 
But the only kiss we've really missed 

Is the one we never had. 




Page Forty-nine 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



^oob-'^'id.. 016 Vcor 




OOD-BYE, Old Year, we're glad you're going. 
You've surely lingered long enough — 
You've brought some blessings in your train 
As well as some things rather rough. 



'Twas but a brief twelve months ago 

We greeted you with hopeful mind^ — 

Just as we did that year before, 
Only some broken hopes to find. 

The girl we loved we since have lost; 

The stocks we bought have sadly slumped; 
The man that owed us a bankrupt died; 

In ev'ry venture we've been badly bumped. 

And so it goes, year follows year, 

And each New Year is just the same; 

We're down and up — but mostly down — 
And still we play the same old game. 

But still. New Year, we welcome you — 
Fortune might yet decree a change; 

For if our luck wouldi get much worse 
It would indeed be passing strange. 




SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Fifty 




3'm on tbe "^i^atcr Wason !Jtow 

^5|IVB me a seltzer, barkeep, and giv« it to me straight; 

The stuff of late you've handed out doesn't quite suit 

my estate; 
The morning after Is all too tough — ^and here you 
hear me vow, 
While I am not a-driviu', I'm on the water wagon now. 

The stuff looks good to me at times, I feel it tempting strong; 
The souse I get Is lasting, too — but for me it lasts too long. 
The stuff is good for some things — for snake bites, I'll allow; 
But I've quit the funnel-gang, dear Bill, I'm on the wagon now. 

So give me a seltzer, barkeep, also a mild cigar; 

I know the drink I'm taking causes you quite a jar; 

But I've reformed, dear barkeep, again just hear my vow — 

While I am not a-drivin", I'm on the water wagon now. 




Page Fifty-one SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



^lecompcnse 




TRIUMPH we award to the conqueror, 

But who pays for the blood that is shed? 
A monument we erect to the victor. 

Who a cenotaph rears to the dead? 
'Tis the hero bold of a hundred fights 
We deck with the trappings of state; 
But who keeps toll of the thousands slain. 
Consigned to an unmourned fate? 

The grasping and greed of him who enslaves 

His fellows for a mere pauper's dole, 
Who employment affords for a thousand men, 

His emprise we right proudly extol. 
But little we reck of the soul-starved homes, 

Penuried toilers whose lives are blight; 
Who cares for the souls that are warped by want — 

For the ones who are lost in the fight? 

The losers in life, who keeps their long score — • 

The millions immured in the muck? 
Poor sacrifice offered the stern god Success — 

Immersed in the world's sordid ruck. 
Does Destiny e'er a reward plan for these 

Denied their deserts here below? 
In the scale is the balance adjusted above. 

In that bourne we would at last know? 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Fifiy-ttvo 



^wo Offerings 




(IITH mourners was thronged the stately fane, all 
garbed In sober state, 
Long lines cf carriages at the curb, with ushers at the 

gate; 

The Angel of Death had singled its own — a rich man's 
only son — 
And Fashion decreed its tribute here, and of all that throng not 

one 
But laid a wreath upon the bier, of flowers rich and rare. 
And these were to the churchyard borne, and on the grave placed 
there. 

Another bier was there the selfsame day, 'twas on a quiet street. 
In a little church hid midst ivy green, by a garden prim and neat; 
No Fashion's throng was gathered here — only the newsboy's chums; 
The only tribute they could bring was the fashion of the slums; 
But on the coflRn one ofE'ring lay — a rosebud pure and white — 
And on the lowly grave It watched alike both day and night. . . . 

And the Angel of Mercy passing, lu sympathy shed a tear. 

But the tribute it accepted was the one from the poor child's bier! 



Page Fifty-three SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Oftlmlsm 




I. 

HE little things of our daily lives 
Aye cause our greatest care; 
They sap our strength and our courage, too, 

And our grit to do and dare. 
We lose our hold on the greater things 
When in trifles our souls we steep — 
We fail to note the star o'erhead 
For the pebble at our feet. 

II. 

'Tis courage that counts for most in man — 

'Tis his virtue most sublime— 
The courage to smile when things look blue. 

The faith to abide our time. 
What if today no sun there shines 

And the sky be overcast? 
Tomorrow's sun will be brighter still, 

The clouds they cannot last. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Fifty-f oar 




^l)e 'Arizona Orange 

HOU Arizona orange! Premier of thy kind! 

We pay a grateful tribute to thy worth! 

Rivals have you a hundred, of peers not one; 

And Nature In thee distills a sweeter draught 

Than e'er man quaffed from brimming goblet 
O'errunning with the purple nectar of the grape. 
Or the gods e'er supped in Hymettian revel. 

Many and far distant are the lands 
Wherein they seek thy charm to duplicate! 
Beneath the frown of smoke-encrowned Vesuvius 
In sunny Italy; along the shores of Sicily, 
Where Aeneas beached his bark; in California, 
Where thy fragrant blossoms sweetly perfume 
A thousand ocean breezes; in Mexico, 
From a score of other lands and climes 
Come thy golden rivals. But not thy peer! 

Thou, the fairest, richest product of this land, 
Art queen of all thy kind — the very culmination 
Of Nature's alchemy; and these others 
Are but the imitations which most sincerely 
Do flatter thee. Thrice hail! to thee we drink, 
Thou glorious creation of the gods! 



Page Fifty-five 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



"Progression 




I. 

LL spells but change — the rose that falls 

To earth, disjoined by vagrant breeze. 
Obeys the law Nature decrees — 
What if its charm the change despoils? 
It fruited, and thus served its aim; 
For this died, as for this it came. 
Ever renewed, Lite gives Death's tolls; 
So thus the rose is born again 
To gladden the sad hearts of men. 

II. 

And thus with Man. Our lives we live, 
And run the course we deem ordained. 
In dying, do we lose all gained. 

Cancelled those aims for which we strive? 
Nay, our life here is but a part 
Of the destined plan — but the start 

In the scheme eternal; as we give 
Our best or worst to this life's sum 
So are we judged the life to come. 




SOME FUGITIVE VEJiSE 



Page Fifty-six 



W\)zn. TKnlgbts Vl^erc :^ol6 




E read us much of those bonnie days 
When knights were aye so bold; 
And pranced on steeds caparisoned 

In harness decked with gold. 
They hied them for adventures rare 
With giants and ogres old — 
And didst rescue ye ladyes faire 
From some deep donjon hold. 



Attired were they in Steel Trust's best. 

With gorget and helm and glaive; 
With shoes as sharp as warship's prow — 

And so were Fashion's slave. 
What matter that it three men took 

To dismount knight from his steed, 
And that a derrick was near at hand 

To answer in the need? 

And when a band of doughty knights 
Came charging might and main, 
It bore a likeness much, we wot, 

To a modern-day freight train. 
O those were merry days, we vow, 

With knights at tourney's joust, 
When they prodded each other full of holes 

Because they felt they must. 



But I don't know — I'd lief as soon 

Be up and around today 
As be a dead hero all these years 

And in Westminster lay; 
We like to read of the Vere de Veres. 

Their valor and all that; 
Yet rather we'd be living now 

In a cozy modern flat. 



Page Fifiy-seUn SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




~3b<i.o\.i 



[HE Statesman could debate by the hour, eloquent o'er 
his country's need; 
Wax wroth over the tariff's iniquities, that served foul 

corporate greed; 
Argue by the hour for a ballot law, maintaining a 
suffrage free; 
And as for the ribald railroad crew, he'd bring them to the knee. 

But Philosophy and Art were out of his line. Poetry had ne'er 

his soul stirred; 
Shakespeare. Milton and Dante — of these had he never heard. 

II. 

The Capitalist was up on debentures, and on consols; he could tell 

The terms of the loan of '59, and why the war bonds fell; 

The best way to form a syndicate, how a railroad loan to float. 

And how to skin a borrower on a retroacting note. 

In all these was he worldly-wise, but ask him of Raphael 
And who painted the great Last Judgment, he could ask but 
"What th' 'ell!" 

III. 

The Railroad King had a field his own, 'twas he settled up the land; 

The engineers ran the surveys, but his the head that planned; 

He well could juggle a rate sheet, on commerce levy toll. 

And could buy whole legislatures with money he frankly stole. 

Of these things was he a master, but ask him of Laplace, 
Of Descartes and of Newton — and he wasn't in the race. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Fifty-eight 




"^ 'C^anksgivlng "Prayer 



EAR Lord of Love, to Thee above 
We give our thanks this day; 
And ask of Thee, where'er we be. 
To lighten our weary way. 



A contrite heart, self love apart. 
We submit before Thy throne; 

With spirit meek Thy grace we seek 
And pray Thy will be done. 

Thy mercy show to us below, 

Give strength to bear our load; 

Thy love divine may it Incline 
Our hearts to constant good. 



This do we ask, and this our task, 
Imploring Thy grace for others; 
And, by Thy will, thru ages still. 
Teach man that all are brothers. 



Puge Fifty-nine SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




O you think of me now as you thought of me then 
(And the days they ars many, and long, since then) 
La belle Mignon? 

Ah, those were the days when youth's love was in 
flower, 
(And you sighed for me then, did you not, ev'ry hour?) 
Lra belle Mignon. 

Not a day ever passed but that somewhere we met, 
(In the future rose-hued were our dreams made to set) 
La belle Mignon. 

Life were barren without me — 'twas so you did vow, 
(But you must have outgrown that — 'twere easy, I trow) 
La belle Mignon. 

Your cheeks then were dimpled, in that long, long ago; 
(And are dimples today as easy to show?) 
La belle Mignon. 

In the years that have flown you have doubts I were true; 
(But, ma coeur, weren't there moments when you forgot, too?) 
La belle Mignon. 

Now, as age creeps apace, so our blood cooler grows, 
(And Friendship is a stream that less turbulent flows) 
La belle Mignon. 

Since our paths must diverge, why, as friends let us part 
(And both of us thankful each has a whole heart), 
La belle Mignon. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Sixty 



•"peace, »a Still! 




HE voice that did the tempest calm 
That swept o'er Galilee; 
Its mandate heart'ning the weary crew 

Tired battling with the sea; 
Is i/Otent yet in this troublous world, 
Our careworn souls to thrill — 
The voice of the Savior above the storm, 
"Peace, be still!" 

And in this wracking, irksome life. 

Where men are keen inclined 
To do the thing which vexes most 

And seldom are resigned 
To temper their purpose with charity, 

With strife their days would fill. 
Wearied we welcome the Master's voice, 

"Peace, be still!" 



If 



^wo "Presents 

IS present was a solitaire 

Set in a hoop of gold. 
Bearing its own sweet mesrage. 
But the note with it told — 
" A Christmas gift for you! 

Hers was but a morris-chair 
For an idle hour's rest; 

But the fuller import of the gift 
She wrote in this behest — 
"An all-year gift for two!" 



Pige Sixty-one SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



TDeatb of 5tlaral 



EXTRACT FROM A HIBTORICAL TRAGEDY 

Charlotte Corday 

WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR FOR MISS JULIA MARLOWE 




Act 11. Scene 2. 

ORDAY. O God, grant me the strength, a woman's 

need. 

To accomplish this design. And the I pay 

The later penalty of a thousand deaths 

I'll gladly suffer all If France I but rid 

Of this inhuman monster. 

Shown the bathroom, closed, in which 
Marat is bathing, she knocks 
MARAT. Enter! 

Charlotte enters, closing door after her 
What would you? 

CORDAY. To serve France. 

MARAT. And how? 

CORDAY. By exposing to you a plot 

Which aims to undo all that purposed was 
By you, and by Robespierre, and the patriots 
In the name of a bleeding people's freedom. 

MARAT. And who are you? 

CORDAY. A simple country girl. 

Born and bred in Caen, whose sympathies 

Are entire with the cause of Liberty. 

Aside: "Aij, 'tin tlie truth, indeed!" 
MARAT. For a daughter of the people your hands 

Are strangely soft and white. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Sixty-hvo 



CORDAY. True, and from service 

In a lady's chamber — a menial's duty 
With these aristocrats, for whom the moh 
In blood lust cries hungrily, "A lanterne!" 

MARAT. Your word for that, but I exact, and 'tis fit, 
Surrounded, as I am, day and night by spies, 
Some proof. 

CORDAY. And you shall have It, all writ down. 
Here's a list of those at Caen and other towns 
Along the Loire who have pledged themselves. 
And subscribed thereto by a thousand oaths, 
To reinstate the Bourbons — what more you? 

MARAT. 'Tis enough, if valid. Give me the list. 

Charlotte hands him the paper, which he reads 
How I wish, like Nero, all these but one head had 
That I might all strike at a blow! And here's 
That pestilent Girondist, Barbaroux, 
Arch conspirator, who has been aligned 
With ev'ry plot against the state our spies 
Have stumbled on. Young woman, I promise you 
That not one of all this list you've handed me 
Shall their punishment escape. And your reward? 

(CORDAY, aside: "And now God help me!') 
It is but meet that for this service you 
Shouldst be recompensed. Name your price — 'tis what? 

CORDAY. This only — I have but one; 'tis that 

In the deepest nethermost depths of hell. 

To which your soul shall early be consigned. 

Your constant torture shall be the anguished cries 

Of the thousands men and women innocent 

Your tyranny to death decreed; the horror 

Of remorse unending, may it be your lot; 

And may you the meed of pity there receive 

That here on earth you gave. 

Withdraws knife from concealment in her bosom, 
and makes as if to use it. 



Page Sixiy-ihree SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



MARAT. And so, my lady's maid 

Is like a common cut-throat armed? 

CORDAY. And is that passing strange, under your rule. 
When ev'ry ruffian wearing the red cap 
Is decked out with implements of his trade? 
I have my purpose. 

MARAT. What is It — murder? 

CORDAY. The term comes lightly to the tongue 
Of one whose soul is steeped in blood, whose pursuit 
Has been for months the slaughter most wanton 
Of helpless men and women. Murder! 
A meaning new must be coined the word 
If it may apply to ridding this poor land 
Of such a ruthless wretch as you! Had you 
A thousand lives, they all are forfeit, and I, 
Taking them all, would hold myself acquit. 
Nay, your day is done, and you shall die. 

Moves again as if to strike 

MARAT. Are you relentless — nought stay your hand? 

Name any price you would, and you shall have it. 

CORDAY. No petition you could make, nor richest bribe. 
Nor threatened penalty, will purchase you 
Half a second's longer lease of life. 
'Tis forfeit, and you shall full payment make; 
If you have a prayer, say it. 'Tis the best 
Shriving you may get. 

MARAT. You'll have your revenge — 
That's certain. But tell me why, upon yourself. 
You've taken the duty of blackcapped judge, 
Assassin and executioner all in one? 

CORDAY. If for no other reason, why then because 
You did just now unhesltant pass sentence of death 
Upon the men whose names are on that list 
I gave you. Innocent, every one. 
Of any crime, unless now it one be deemed 
To give one's best for France. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE Page Sixty-four 



MARAT. Me they'd overthrow 

If occasion offered! 

CORDAY. And what patriot 

Would not? Think you an outraged nation will 
Forever patient submit to your rule? 
Whence comes your authority? 

MARAT. From the Assembly. 

CORDAY. Ay, after you had ordered to the knife 

All those who dared withstand the Mountain; 

With what was left — your own tools and minions — 

Control were easy then. And now, Marat, 

It 'vaileth not to sue to me for grace. 

Pluto take you to his realms! My part is done! 

Corday stabs him twice in the left side, Marat 
imploring "Mercy .'" until he expires 
And so, what a g^rovellng thing he is 

To have made so much stir in the busy world! 

One tyrant the less, and may Prance be spared 

Such another monster; or, if one there be. 

May there another Corday rise to take 

A people's judgment! And now God help me! 

Concierge breaks in door, and after a struggle 
pinions Charlotte' s arms 




Page Sixiy-fvoe SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




By C. e. kunze 

(Written as a rejoinder to and a paraphrase of the Author's poem, 
"Nevada, My Nevada.") 

HAVK sat and lisped my numbers in the azure realms 
of Hope; 
I have followed false Fortuna thru Old Kohold's end- 
less stope; 
I have praised the smell of sagebrush, have enthused 
o'er barren hills. 
With an empty stomach aching — nursing fevers mixed with chills. 
Oh, I've loved my dear Nevada as no poet loved before; 
Now I'm busted, but contented, sitting at Nevada's door. 

In my youth, when sense was lacking and my lust for gold was 
strong; 

When the yellow siren warbled, and I listened to her song; 

I, her victim, walked serenely, prodding burros day by day. 

Seeking fortune in Nevada where the mystic millions lay; 

Now I'm weary of mirages, glittering prospects tempt no more. 
Milk and honey soothe my palate, sitting at Nevada's door. 

Dear old days of my delusion, dear old pals I loved so well. 
Dear old prospects in the sagebrush which we fondly hoped to sell, 
Au revoir, my mood is changing, here alfalfa spells our theme; 
All our lemons grow on bushes, in our streams the rainbows gleam; 
Here In Inyo, land of plenty, where we prate of farming lore, 
I shall rest me from my gold-hunt, sitting at Nevada's door. 
Bishop, Cal., Dec. 10, 1909. 



SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 



Page Sixty-six 



!&ut Slje "Kadn'l "Xeamftft lo (Took 



HE beautiful Miss O'Tiigger 

Was certainly most de riguer, 
And her style was alwiays comme as well as some- 
what il faut; 

She was everything in fashion. 
Kept the beaux a-busy "mashin'," 
And the "rage" she was wherever she had a mind to go. 




She could play a waltz from Strauss, 

And, better still, bring down the house 
With a dreamy bit — a nocturne — composed by M. Chopin; 

While of matters literary 

She discoursed so light and airy 
You knew there wasn't very much that she didn't understand. 

But 'twas in the field of Art 

That she'd give you the sudden start 
As she rambled on so glibly of Rubens and Meissonier; 

Of Rembrandt and Angelo, 

Of Da Vinci and Corot, 
She could rattle on unceasing from dawn till close of day. 

Oh, the beauteous O'Trigger, 

She certainly cut a "figger"; 
She had it all down very pat — she well might write a book. 

But despite her pretty face, 

And with all her cultured grace, 
One thing she'd sadly overlooked — she hadn't learned to cook. 



li 



Page Sizty-se'ben SOME FUGITIVE VERSE 




"Gb^ Mllnlng TExpcrt 

'E prods his teeth with a quill toothpick, 
And his khakis are spick and span; 
Natty, unrimmed glasses bridge his nose- 
He's a very proper man. 



He talks of formations, dips and spurs, 
Dikes of porphyry, quartz and such; 

And harks him back to the lava flows 
When this country wasn't so much. 

Of ore reserves and of hidden veins 

He can spiel till your hair turns gray; 

He can tell the way a ledge should dip 
That saw never the light of day. 

But after his visit you know it all. 
And his charge you cheerfully pay; 

You gladly dig when he blandly says, 
"My fee's two hundred a day!" 



JUL 25 I91C 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



